We here at the Sleeping Village have coaxed another occupant into the confines of our Ivory Tower. Bardic by nature, this scribe writes his reviews in the form of short stories. Give a warm welcome, readers, to Tales_of_Deception: the Story Teller himself.
Written by: Tales_of_Deception
I-A: The mountains in the distance seem to be growing closer and closer as the days turn into nights. It seems as though I've been walking nonstop with very little rest. My bones are weak, my muscles are nearly ripped to shred from the attacks I've had to endure the last few weeks. It seems as though nothing is normal here. The elements are far more harsh than I've ever encountered before. Frozen lakes and burning woodlands stretch out across the earth for miles. It's as if the climate here talks to itself on a more spiritual level above all else.
As the moon starts to rise and the winds begin to pick up speed, I prepare myself for the chilling night that is expected. With temperatures getting below 10° most nights, the clothes on my back will not be enough for how blistering cold it is here. In a weird way, it seems that this "world" goes simply off of emotion. When I'm depressed or disappointed, it gets so cold, so quickly. I don't even have enough time to react before it smacks me in the face. On the other hand, if I'm angered my temper rises to the surface instantly, like the heat from sun that hangs over me, roasting my flesh. My skin fights it no more and gives in, dripping off of my body. I want out! I do not want this as much as I thought I needed it. FUCKING HELP ME!!!!
I-B: Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months and it seems as though this might be the end. The solitude, the emptiness and the pure guilt, has all taken its toll on me. My mind has begun the process of killing itself off slowly. The haunting images that stalk the shadows in these woods are not something I deserve. On the other hand, it's what I was seeking so I have to accept the cards I was dealt. Have I contemplated taking my own life? Sure, multiple times. But that isn't who I am. I'd much rather be devoured by the things that stalk my every move, than just accept my fate and end what wasn't meant to be.
II-A: It's been four long months of never ending travel. The infection below my right eye has begun the stages of decaying. If I can't find some sort of medicine, creek or bandages within the next couple of days, I'll be carrying half my face right along with my torn clothes. The only positive that I've seen since I arrived on this "world" is that as the days go on, the dreams that haunted me nightly, are seeming to slow in pace. It's beginning to smell less like shit and burning flesh and more like garbage. Does that mean some sort of food is near? I've traveled nearly 700 miles on foot in the last four months. I can't give up now.
What's the point in continuing though? What if the end isn't even real? Am I being unstable by saying that I seriously wish this "world" would just take me away and control me as it does every other thing inside of it. The juggling act that comes and goes from emotions is really just the first layer of self-destruction. I mean, the only positive about letting myself succumb to the pressures that lay upon my shoulders of being in this "world" is that I might be at peace. But even that isn't a shot I'm willing to take because it's not 100% safe or even trustworthy.
II-B: SALVATION!! The sound of running water has whispered across my ears as I woke up this morning. How did I not hear this last night? It was dead quite. So quite that it felt like I was in a padded room with no windows. I can't seem to think straight at the moment. The amount of thrill in my heart and soul, this is something I haven't felt in years. I have to find that source of water. It's my only chance at survival. My stomach has started to eat itself to the point that moving even hurts. It feels as if my insides have been boiled, chopped up and served on a hot plate, while still in my body.
It's getting closer! It has to be within the next couple hundred feet. A waterfall? No way! Out in the middle of this gigantic wasteland? I'll chalk it up to me losing my fucking mind because the loudest thing I've heard thus far is the screams of unknown figures in the dead of night. I push forward to see exactly what the hell the noise is. I don't care if I die trying. This might be my only rescue and leverage to keep myself alive. What if it's a small village filled with others? Today might be the day that I find hope and faith in what I've believed in this entire time.
III-A: Today marks day thirty-five of being in solace. The "world" that surrounds me is still burning, freezing and I can still hear the chaos that erupts during the witching hours of each nightfall. The only difference is that I have found freedom in my new so-called "home". These walls, the "Shrine" as I call it, provide everything I need to build myself back up to the "being" that I once was. Brighter days are ahead in my journey but it's also an unknown wonder what is around each corner. All I can do is keep my head straight, don't ponder on what I've been through but also remember what I did to get myself into this position.
Rest In Peace, Seth Howard - May the impact you've had on your friends, family and bandmates never be forgotten. You may not have known it but they carry a piece of you with them every single day and always will. To some, you might be the "Shrine" they've always needed. Godspeed, sir. May you rest well.
Providing thoughtful reviews of music that is heavy, gloomy, and loud enough to wake us from slumber. Written by a groggy-eyed, highfalutin peasantry.